


Not a Small Miracle

by OceanTheSoulRebel



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Emotional Sex, Getting Back Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Other Characters - Freeform, handjobs, that three year break has really done a number on these boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 02:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21384328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTheSoulRebel/pseuds/OceanTheSoulRebel
Summary: It’s a familiar ritual, this. The midnight breaking of bread, the spilling of tea, the scent of thickly cut bacon wafting from the kitchen. Card night came and went, and now morning creeps in with silent steps. At the head of the massive table, Garrett sits, lord-like and noble, with a soft, warm smile.He sighs and tilts his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over this,” Garrett murmurs.Three years is a long time to wait to have this conversation.
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke, Male Hawke/Fenris
Comments: 17
Kudos: 183





	Not a Small Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to RedInk for the title and reading through this when I was really not feeling what to call this!

It’s a familiar ritual, this. The midnight breaking of bread, the spilling of tea, the scent of thickly cut bacon wafting from the kitchen. Card night came and went, and now morning creeps in with silent steps. At the head of the massive table, Garrett sits, lord-like and noble, with a soft, warm smile. 

He sighs and tilts his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over this,” Garrett murmurs. 

Fenris hums and leans in from his own chair, seated to Garrett’s right. “The squabbling of your wayward children?”

Said children duel with butter knives of shiny silver over the last roll in the woven basket. Merrill’s laughter sails through the air with Isabela’s right behind as they spar. They are half a breath from jumping on the table—they’ve done it before—when Orana comes in with another basket of bread and a heavily-laden tray. Varric booms with laughter down the table, and Anders cracks a smile. Even Aveline, usually so rigid, grins into her tankard at the drunken way the two descend upon the renewed feast like carrion crows, their tussle temporarily soothed. 

“They’ll eat you out of house and home, you know,” Fenris says. 

Garrett only laughs. “It’s theirs to have, of course. What’s mine is yours, and all that. What good is having all this house if I can’t share it with the people I…” 

Fenris glances up to find a faint blush staining Garrett’s cheeks. Something warm stirs in his middle. He reaches for his wine to distract himself from the heat growing on his own face. 

“...with my friends,” Garrett finishes lamely. He gives a minute shake of his head. “Anyway! I have more money than the Maker and a house too big to do anything with. What else could I do with it? I have half a mind to clear out the bedrooms and ask—”

Garrett stops, cutting himself off, and busies himself with his own wine. “Never mind,” he says, so soft Fenris can barely hear it. 

Fenris turns back to his dinner, something he cannot bear to give a name making its home in his chest.

* * *

By the time their midnight feast runs out, even Aveline wobbles when she stands. Garrett ushers his drunken friends toward the door with well-wishes and laughter, and Merrill draws him into a hug so powerful in its caring that Fenris has to look away. 

Their midnight dinners might be a ritual, but the way Garrett’s gaze rests on Fenris’ face when Garrett turns back to him still scalds over his skin. 

“...would you care to stay for another glass?” Garrett asks, hesitant. He finds a mostly-full bottle of wine, not a small miracle. 

Fenris gingerly nods, even as he says, “I shouldn’t impose.” 

“It’s not an imposition, I promise.” 

This is unfortunately familiar, too, the uncertain back-and-forth of _”would you”s_ and the answering _”I shouldn’t”s,_ batted between them in the small hours of the morning. Garrett shouldn’t offer, but he always does, and Fenris shouldn’t accept, but he always agrees. For the last three years, since their one agonizing, beautiful night together, it’s been this way. 

Fenris doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he clutches his tankard like a lifeline when Garrett closes in with careful steps and fills it with a rich red. Garrett’s hand trembles a little as he pours. 

They take to the plush sofas of the sitting room. Garrett adds a log to the fire before sitting beside him, ever mindful of Fenris’ appreciation of the warmth in the cold Kirkwall climate. Orana and Bodahn have long since gone to bed, leaving them alone, sitting beside each other, just barely not touching. 

It’s… nerve-wracking. 

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

“What are we doing, Fenris?” Garrett asks. He’s staring at the fire when Fenris turns to him, surprised. “The—this.” He gestures between them weakly. “All of this.” 

“I don’t… Garrett…” 

The hesitation stretches, crystal-fragile between them, neither moving, neither speaking. Garrett finally takes a long drink from his tankard. “Never mind, it’s a stupid thought. The wine must be going to my head.” 

Fenris sets his wine on the nearby end table and turns, tucking himself into the arm of the couch to study Garrett’s profile. “I don’t know,” he admits, quiet. “I’ve never done this before, not like this.” 

“You’ve never—right, right. Of course. I’m sorry.” Garrett scrubs a hand down his face and scratches idly at his bearded jaw. “You’re a good friend, Fenris.” 

Even Fenris can hear that’s not what he means to say--Fenris just doesn’t know what to _do_ with that. 

“I’m sorry for wanting,” Garrett murmurs into his wine. “I’m trying to… be better about it. I don’t mean to pressure you, or to ask for anything you cannot give.” He tips back the rest of his drink and clears his throat. “Thank you for your patience with me.” 

Fenris sighs, and something in him shifts, breaks open. “Garrett, look at me.” 

Garrett’s dark eyes are red-rimmed when he looks up, and Fenris feels it like a punch to the gut. Fenris uncurls from his position and reaches his hand out to where Garrett’s sits, stiff and still as marble on the back of the couch. He tentatively twines their fingers together—loose, allowing himself to back away, even though he knows Garrett wouldn’t keep him. 

“I… I do care for you. Deeply. I just…” 

Garrett looks at him with something inscrutable in his eyes before dropping his gaze to their linked hands. “You said it hurt, last time,” he says lowly. “Touch. Being… being there.” Garrett takes in a dragging breath. “Being with me.” 

Fenris nods and worries his lip. “It did. It does,” he amends. “But…” _But you make it easier,_ he wants to say. _You make things easy for me, in all ways. It scares me, sometimes, how much I want what you so effortlessly offer._

“But…?”

Fenris moves closer and raises his other hand to card through Garrett’s beard, cupping his chin. He scoots forward and presses their mouths together, wine-scented and whisper-soft. 

But it’s all wrong. Garrett stiffens again beneath him, unyielding. 

“Garrett,” he tries. “Do you not… want?” 

Garrett’s breath shakes out of his chest in wobbly puffs. “Maker, Fenris, of course I _want_, but I can’t—I can’t ask that of you, not because I want something from you. How would I be any better than them?” 

“Them—who?” 

“The—the magisters. You’ve told me—you said that they —” 

Fenris’ heart thunders in his chest. “You’re not like them,” he says fiercely. He gnashes his teeth and tightens his fingers where their hands are still interlaced. “You are _nothing_ like them, Garrett Hawke. I am my own, and no one else’s—and I will do what I wish with my own body and mind.” 

When Fenris kisses him again, Garrett still hesitates, but soon blooms beneath him, his big hand unerringly finding Fenris’ waist. He leans back against his arm of the sofa so that Fenris can crawl into his lap properly. Fenris drinks in the low moan that pours from Garrett’s mouth. 

_“Fenris,”_ Garrett gasps. Fenris swallows that down, too, licking past Garrett’s lips with a ferocity that surprises even himself. 

He can feel Garrett growing hard beneath him. Garrett’s hands scrabble along his back, lighting on his hips, his shoulders, his waist, ever roaming. It’s a heady feeling, this, that after three years Garrett still wants him. That, after denying himself of Garrett’s company in this way, Fenris still wants to hear every groan, every mutter, every gasp. That Fenris himself _wants_ to be wanted by him. 

The reaction of his body doesn’t scare Fenris in the ways it did before, now. Fenris grinds down against the tenting line of Garrett’s cock. A red-hot shiver trips up his spine and he does it again, rolling his hips to rub them together through the confines of their clothing.

“You’re beautiful,” Garrett murmurs against his lips. His mouth trails down Fenris’ jaw to nip down his throat. Something white-hot builds in Fenris’ chest at the way Garrett avoids his brands, dragging his lips in the negative space of his pure skin. “Glowing,” he continues on a groan. “Should I be worried?” His hands only tighten, not push away.

Fenris chuckles darkly and bites at the hinge of Garrett’s jaw. “Have you done anything to warrant my displeasure?” 

“Void, I hope not—you already have my heart as is.” 

They still, together. Fenris pulls back to look Garrett in the eye, watches the flush crawl up Garrett’s neck to paint his face. 

“Garrett—” 

“I mean it. You don’t have to say it back. I don’t expect anything from you—Maker, even this doesn’t feel real, and part of me is worried I’ll wake up hungover on this couch and it’ll all have been a dream—but you deserve to know. I love you, Fenris.” 

“I—” Fenris growls and dives back in for a kiss, biting his way to claim Garrett’s mouth in filthy possession. “Pants, off. Now.” 

“We could go to the be—” 

_”Now.”_

Garrett groans and shuffles, untying the belt at his waist. Fenris helps with deft fingers, and together they manage to get Garrett’s pants down his thighs. Garrett’s cock bobs against his own lower belly. Fenris rubs against it to the sound of their mingled moaning, the thin fabric of his leggings no barrier for the heat of Garrett’s skin. 

Fenris licks a bead of sweat that trails down Garrett’s neck. Bitten off curses fall from Garrett’s lips to catch between them. Fenris snakes his hand down to slide down Garrett’s heaving belly, trails his fingers through the growing pearls of precome that dot his overheated skin. He teases his fingers over Garrett’s twitching cock. 

“Fen, Fen, oh fucking void.” 

“Say it again.” 

“Wha—_Fenris,_ I love you.” 

Fenris closes his hand around Garrett’s cock, thumbing at the slick head. “Again.” He pulls his fist slowly, making Garrett buck his hips into the tight circle of his fingers. 

“I—haaa—love you, I lo—” He lapses into a low moan and paws at Fenris’ back, pulling him closer and rutting into the vee of Fenris’ thighs where they bracket his waist. Garrett presses sloppy kisses along the sharp line of Fenris’ throat. “Please,” he begs, nuzzling along Fenris’ skin. His teeth scrape into the hollow behind Fenris’ ear. “Please.” 

Fenris lifts up to wriggle his own leggings down, just low enough to release his own cock from the tight confines of his leathers. He reaches for Garrett’s hand and wraps it around them both, lacing their fingers together. 

“Again,” he murmurs, pressing the word into Garrett’s mouth. 

Fenris rides the rolling of Garrett’s hips, leading their joined hands into slow, tight strokes. Precome blurts from both of them to ease the glide, and Fenris’ blood boils at the sight. He strokes mindlessly into their combined grip, sliding along Garrett’s thick shaft. 

“Fen—Fenris, I’m gonna—love—” 

Garrett comes with a keening cry that Fenris can’t swallow in time; the noise fills the room, and Garrett bucks beneath him, quick, hard rolls of his hips that have Fenris following soon behind with a feverish moan of his own. They collapse into a heaving puddle of limbs and barely-shed clothes, come spattered between them. 

“Now,” Fenris huffs into Garrett’s ear, once he catches his breath, _”now_ you may take me to bed.” 

Garrett laughs, his belly flexing against Fenris’ softening cock and stirring renewed interest. “Brace yourself,” is the only warning Fenris gets before being lifted, ass bare to the world. Their laughter mingles as Garrett hastens toward the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a [Tumblr prompt fill](https://ocean-in-my-rebel-soul.tumblr.com/post/188915800169/smut-ahead-for-you-anon-dadrunkwriting-fenris), now edited. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite and appreciate feedback, including:
> 
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